


Safe, In Hand

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Series: Tiger's Tumblr Ficlets [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Hurt!Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your boyfriend is fine. He made it through his surgery wonderfully. At the moment, he should be resting comfortably. He refused to be put completely under while we set the pins in his arm.” The nurse rolled his eyes while looking at his chart. “Is he always so… um, I’m trying to find a polite way to say giant dick… Nothing’s coming to mind.”</p>
<p>John sagged against the wall. “Yes, he is. Nearly all the time, anyway. And he isn’t my- Oh, forget it. Can I see him?” It just didn’t seem worth the effort to argue that point anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe, In Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a prompt fill for a follower on tumblr. Typed on my phone, so if you see any errors, let me know to fix.

“Can I see him now?” John hovered outside of Sherlock’s hospital room, practically bouncing with tension. “Please, I just need to see that he’s alright. Let me in. I know we’re not family but I have to see him. I’ll be quick, then I’ll leave, but just-“

“Dr Watson, deep breath. Calm down. Your boyfriend is fine. He made it through his surgery wonderfully. At the moment, he should be resting comfortably. He refused to be put completely under while we set the pins in his arm.” The nurse rolled his eyes while looking at his chart. “Is he always so… um, I’m trying to find a polite way to say giant dick… Nothing’s coming to mind.”

John sagged against the wall. “Yes, he is. Nearly all the time, anyway. And he isn’t my- Oh, forget it. Can I see him?” It just didn’t seem worth the effort to argue that point anymore.

“Of course. We’ll be keeping him in over night. You can take him home in the morning. For now, see if you can get him to rest.”

Tapping softly on the door, John went into the private room. Sherlock was lying in the big bed, his left arm strapped in place across his chest. The car that hit him, and the piece of metal that had nearly severed his hand, had also left bruises and scrapes on his face and chest. “Hey, mate, how’re you feeling?” John sat on the edge of the bed, reading the print out from Sherlock’s monitor.

“Like I was hit by a car, John.” Sherlock snorted and rolled his head on the pillow to face his friend. “My head feels fuzzy.”

“That’s the pain meds.” John checked the dosage in the IV drip and nodded. “I made sure they didn’t give you morphine.”

Sherlock’s good hand clutched at John’s wrist. “Thank you. That wretched nurse told me that you saved my life. That I would have bled out on the street before paramedics reached me, if you hadn’t… What did you even do? All I remember is you screaming for me not to go anywhere. Which was ridiculous. I was pinned under a car, where precisely did you think I was going to go?” He yawned and relaxed back on his pillows.

Clearing his throat, John turned his hand over, and laced their fingers together. “Your heart rate had plummeted, and you were bleeding all over me. I was telling you not to die, you idiot.” He huffed out a wet laugh. “There’s only so many times I can see you broken, with blood on the pavement, before it stops being funny.”

“John… why are you crying?”

The doctor opened his mouth to answer, but Sherlock had already drifted to sleep. Sighing, John pulled over a chair, and made himself comfortable for a bedside vigil.

 

 

It had to be close to midnight when he woke up. Something was tickling his cheek. “Nnh, f’ck off Sh’rlock.” He mumbled, and yawned. “I was having a good dream.”

“I know.” Sherlock snickered and stopped poking at John’s face. “Your dream woke me up. Or rather, your reaction to it.” He eased back down, with a playful grin.

“What… ah, shit." He glanced down at his lap, and crossed his legs. "Sherlock, I’m sorry.” John rubbed his cheeks as he felt them turn red. “What did I say? No! God, never mind, please don’t tell me.” All he could remember of the dream was Sherlock playing the violin while naked. The skull sang along, while John watched from his place, tied to his chair. “I’m going to go beat my head on some high powered medical equipment.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want to beat?” Sherlock cracked an eyelid and wrinkled his nose. He looked pointedly at his friend’s lap. “And you don’t need to leave, to do it.” He lifted his hips as best he could. The heavy blankets mostly concealed his own reaction to John’s moaning.  _Mostly._

“Sherlock!” John snapped quietly. His eyes darted over to the door. “I’m not going to participate in a ‘yay, we’re not dead!’ Celebration circle jerk with my best mate! In a hospital room!”

“You do realise you’re palming yourself through your jeans while you say that, don’t you?” Sherlock drawled. He pouted in frustration ad he tried to push his covers down.

“Please, shut up a lot.” John snatched his hand out of his lap. “Fuck you, I’ll be back in ten minutes.” He stood and made a move towards the room’s loo.

“John, please don’t leave. I wasn’t trying to mock you. I was flirting. I’m not good at it, evidently.” He made a pathetic sound of irritation, and hit the button that raised the head of his bed. “Please stay with me. I don’t want you to leave. And I  _really_ don’t want to have to deal with this alone.” He gestured to his lap with a glare. “It is, after all, your fault. You and your… noises, and the way you were saying my name. And you saved me. Again. So, if you do not let me masturbate while watching you do the same, I may have to throw a dinner tray at you.”

Giggling, John sat back on the edge of the bed. He folded down the heavy covers, to his friend’s sigh of relief. “How fucked up does it make me,” he rolled down the waistband of Sherlock’s pale blue drawstring bottoms, letting his swollen prick bob free to rest on his smooth belly. “That that is possibly the most romantic thing I have ever heard?” He leaned back to pop open the flies of his jeans and wiggle them down past his hips. “This is wrong on at least four levels.”

Sherlock took himself in hand, his eyes focused on John. All of John. He had stubble on his cheeks, his eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, and crying. His penis was much larger than he had imagined. It was average length, to be fair, but it was as thick as Sherlock’s wrist, and uncut. “You have a very attractive penis.” He blurted, before he could tell himself how stupid that would sound out loud.

“Yours is, uh, pretty nice too.” John laughed quietly. Licking and biting his lips, he turned his body enough to make it easier for them both to watch. It was true: Sherlock was long and slim, with a noticeable upward curve. It jutted up out of a neatly trimmed nest of tight black curls. Sherlock’s large hand covered most of it as he stroked himself in quick, frantic jerks.

John was almost lazy about it. He kept his hand still, instead thrusting his hips up to fuck into his fist. “We’re insane!” He whispered, leaning forward to brace his hand next to Sherlock’s head. “Completely barking mad! We should be locked up.” His lips parted in a silent moan as he watched the detective’s face. Sherlock was scowling in concentration, eyes entirely focused on John’s lips. “Sherlock…”

Biting down hard on his lip to cover the noise, Sherlock arched off the bed as he came. It splattered across his belly, but one final spurt hit him in the jaw.

John swore under his breath. Muttering about insanity, he tipped his head forward to drag his tongue through the pearly mess on the other man’s face. Sherlock’s strangled moan was all he needed to go over the edge. “Ridiculous… Mad… insane… fucking fantastic… god dammit, Sherlock!” John shuddered to his finish, filling his cupped palm. “You’re going to be the bloody death of me.” He flopped as gently as he could down onto the mattress. “I’m going to get kicked out. Fuck kicked out, I’m going to get removed by security.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through short sandy hair. “I have an overwhelming urge to make a joke about Love Doctors, and Sexual Healing. It is quite alarming. In the meantime, I also wish to cuddle. You can have a panic attack, and hold me at the same time, correct? Excellent.”


End file.
